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was obviously in no hurry to complete his assigned task.
    “Actually,” said Sebastian, “I’m here to retrieve a book I lent Ross a couple of weeks ago. Scott’s Lady of the Lake . Have you seen it?”
    Poole blinked at him a few times. “And who might you be, if I may be so bold to ask?”
    Sebastian withdrew one of his cards and held it out between two fingers. “Devlin.”
    Poole’s well-trained jaw hung slack. There were few in this part of London—either above- or belowstairs—who had not heard of Viscount Devlin.
    The valet took the extended card with trembling fingers and gave another bow, this one considerably deeper and more obsequious than the first. “Oh, of course! Lord Devlin! I do beg your pardon.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I don’t recall seeing such a book, but I can assure you I will be more than happy to send it on to you should I come across it.”
    “That would be helpful, thank you.”
    Sebastian wandered the room, his gaze taking in the fine Adams cabinetry, the lyre-backed chairs covered in striped silk, the engraved invitations tucked into the frame of the gilded mirror over the hearth. Pausing, he found himself studying an invitation to that evening’s reception for the Russian Ambassador at St. James’s Palace.
    Behind him, Poole cleared his throat. “I understand you have something of a reputation for solving murders.”
    Sebastian glanced over at him. “Yes.”
    “But ... Mr. Ross died in his sleep. I discovered him myself.”
    “Must have been quite a shock for you.”
    Poole fumbled again for his handkerchief. “Indeed it was. You’ve no notion. I fear I’ve yet to recover my equilibrium.”
    Sebastian continued his slow perusal of the room. He would need to come back later tonight for a more thorough—and private—search. “Had Ross done anything unusual the day of his death? Anything that might have taxed his heart?”
    “Not to my knowledge, no. He was out most of the previous evening, so he arose a trifle later than normal. But Sir Hyde was never too particular about that sort of thing.”
    Sebastian swung around to stare back at the round little man. “Sir Hyde? You mean, Sir Hyde Foley ?ʺ Sir Hyde Foley was the Undersecretary of State for Foreign Affairs. Which meant that the murdered Mr. Ross must—
    “But of course,” said Poole. “Mr. Ross worked for Sir Hyde at the Foreign Office.”

Chapter 5
    S ebastianʹs gaze went again to the invitation to that evening’s reception at St. James’s Palace. The quiet murder of the unknown Mr. Ross had demanded investigation. But the stealthy assassination of a young gentleman from the Foreign Office opened up a host of disturbing possibilities.
    “At what time did Mr. Ross return from the Foreign Office that evening?” asked Sebastian.
    Poole frowned with the strain of remembrance. “A little later than the usual time, I believe. Although it’s difficult to remember for certain, now.”
    “Did he go out again that night?”
    “I couldn’t say, my lord. You see, it wasn’t long after his return that Mr. Ross informed me he wouldn’t be needing me for the remainder of the evening.” Poole hesitated. “Actually, I had the impression he was expecting someone later that night.”
    “A man or a woman?”
    “I was not informed.”
    “Is your chamber here, on the second floor?”
    Poole shook his head. “No, my lord; I am in the attic.” He nodded to a bellpull near the hearth. “Mr. Ross could summon me whenever I was desired, but he did like his privacy.”
    “How long have you been with Mr. Ross?”
    “Ever since his return from Russia.”
    “Ross was in Russia?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    Once again, Sebastian’s gaze returned to the invitation tucked into the gilded frame. As heir to the Earl of Hendon, he had received a similar invitation. He’d had no intention of attending—before. But now ...
    He realized Noah Poole was still speaking. “And I’ve more than twenty years of